


Some Long Night

by losercandy (pacificaxe)



Category: Rebel Without a Cause (1955)
Genre: Comfort, Drinking, M/M, Panic Attacks, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 18:31:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9561515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pacificaxe/pseuds/losercandy
Summary: Plato has a panic attack and goes to Jim.





	

Jim wakes up, and he isn't sure why yet. He doesn't even remember falling asleep. He was laying on his bed, fully clothed, shoes and all, a snitched bottle of whiskey by his side. It had been light out when he'd started drinking it. It was dark as pitch now and he was sober. But why was he awake? He hears it again, the noise that hadn't registered the first two times: a pebble hitting his window. 

 

He bolts up, rubbing his eyes and runs to it, throwing the window open and waiting for his eyes to see something in the dark. 

 

“Jim?” a voice calls, strained like it’s trying to be quiet but can’t contain itself. 

 

Jim recognizes the small silhouette in the moonlight. 

 

“Plato, what on earth are you doing out there?” Jim hisses in a stage whisper. He knew Plato was a bit mischievous, one to run away, this might be normal behavior for him. But something about the tone of his voice rattled in Jim's brain. Something felt wrong. 

 

“Jim!” he called again. 

 

“Plato, shhh, I'm coming down, okay?”

 

Jim grabs his jacket and shrugs it on as he runs down the stairs. He closes the door quietly and finds that Plato had come around to the door to wait for him. “Jim, I-” 

 

“Shh, Plato, you're too loud, you're gonna wake my folks.” 

 

“I need to talk to you, though.”

 

Jim puts a hand on Plato's arm and starts to lead him out towards the street. 

 

“Let’s talk out here under the streetlamp where I can see you, alright?” he whispers as they walk. Plato nods. They stop under the streetlamp and Jim adjusts his jacket. He'd put it on in too much of a hurry and hadn't gotten it over his shoulder all the way. Plato is looking at the ground, suddenly all quiet and shy. His hands are shaking. 

 

“Plato, why’re you out here in the middle of the night?” 

 

“I just couldn't be there any more.” he says, his voice cracking.

 

Plato looks up at him from under those thick lashes. His big, dark eyes have fear in them. His mouth hangs open slightly, breathing quick and trying to keep his lip from trembling. 

 

“I'm-I'm no good when I'm like this.” Plato says, a tear falling from the corner of his eye. “I'm no good, I get all-”

 

Jim takes a step forward, bridging the small distance between them. He takes Plato's hands and brings them up together, holding them in his own hands between their chests. “You're gonna be alright, Plato.” Jim says quietly. 

 

Plato's expression is urgent. More tears fall, his face is streaked and glistening in the glow from the streetlamp.  

 

“Jim, don't leave me, okay? Promise you won't leave.” he’s breathing like he'd just finished running for days, like his legs were going to give way if he took another step. Jim wondered if he really was running or if it's just something inside him, about to collapse. Maybe it was both.  

 

“I'm not gonna leave you. Wouldn't dream of it.” he says, running one hand through Plato's hair and then resting it on his cheek. He wipes at Plato's tears with his thumb. “Who could leave a crying boy alone in the street?” 

 

Plato doesn't answer but the look in his eyes says what Jim doesn't want to hear. Says what he already knows. There are people do leave you out in the cold when you need them. Plato has known that for a long time. 

 

Jim knows it too, just as well, but doesn't like to believe it. Thinks  _ who could do a thing like that?  _ It calms Plato to see the softness in Jim's eyes. The sadness in him that won't accept the way the world is. Plato knows they're both just lost at sea, he can recognize that in him and he knows, from that night at the police station, that Jim has compassion. Offered his jacket to a stranger. Plato can't operate like that. Can't give or receive compassion without a bond. Someone has to earn that right. 

 

And Jim has definitely earned it now, because Plato is letting him wrap his arms around him. Plato hadn't even really noticed he'd started sobbing. He was shaking in Jim's arms and the longer he cried, the tighter Jim held him, whispering and whispering, telling him he was gonna be okay. 

 

“You're safe, Plato, you're okay.” 

 

Plato leans his face into Jim's chest until he has to lean back to breathe. He sees the tear stains on Jim's shirt and how Jim doesn't even regard them, doesn't even mind, just keeps looking at Plato. 

Plato leans his head onto Jim's shoulder, facing his neck. The aftershocks of crying still moving through him, still shaking like a leaf. 

 

Jim just holds him. He doesn't know what to say anymore. Plato feels so small and fragile in his arms, like a porcelain doll. Plato's breathing is finally starting to settle into something more normal, moving in time with Jim’s chest rising and falling. 

 

Plato breathes out a long sigh against Jim's neck, then snakes his arms out from between their chests, wrapping them around Jim and balling his fists in his jacket. 

 

“Jamie?” 

 

Jim almost laughs. No one has called him that since nursery school. He almost laughs, but not really, only on some plane deep within his mind that has room for amusement. That isn't all consumed with this moment, with the cold night air and the weight of Plato on his chest and his own elevated pulse and slow, deliberate breathing. It feels like the whole world is pounding down on him, like this moment is important, like he has to make sure Plato is safe. 

 

His dry throat catches his reply. “Y-eah, kid?” 

 

“Say you'll take me away. Say we'll get in your car and just drive. That we'll go somewhere far, far away where this won't happen to me.”

 

Jim sighs. Adrenaline spikes through him with worry. It's not a bad idea, really. It's not a bad theory. But he knows -and he thinks Plato probably knows too- running away comes with its own set of problems. 

 

“Plato, I-” 

 

Plato sinks into Jim's embrace a little more at the apologetic tone of his voice. 

 

“You don't have to mean it.” Plato whispers. “Just say you'll take me away.”

 

Jim breathes in deep. “Sure, Plato. I'll take you away.” he starts to really think about it. What they would do and where they would go, if things were perfect. If they could manage. If they weren't just two kids who'd been left to cry alone. 

“You like cold weather, Plato? We could go somewhere cold. Somewhere with big mountains and trees. We could get in my car and just start driving north.” 

 

“I don't know if that's far away enough. We might have to go east.” 

 

“We could go anywhere, Plato, anywhere you want.” Jim knew that the places you went didn't really matter, that you could move halfway across the world and things could be the same. But Plato didn't need to hear that. And Jim thought, though he hadn't had a chance to find out yet, that if you went someplace, as long as you went with the right people, things might be okay. 

 

And that was what he wanted. That was what Plato wanted. Not so much to get away from a place, but to get away from the people. The people they were there and the people who made them that way. 

“We could go east.” Plato continued. “I think the drive could be nice. We could stop anywhere we liked. Just to see if it's the right place yet.” Plato said, wistfully. 

 

Jim rubs Plato's back, thinking of all the places he's lived before and wondering if Plato would like them. Wondering if he could stand to go back, anyway. Jim's hand rubs too high, against the bare skin of Plato's neck, and Plato shivers against him. 

 

“You're going to catch your death out here, shivering like that.” Jim says, quietly. He takes a step back to look at Plato. He looks exhausted, he’s wilting. 

“You need some sleep.” 

 

Plato's head falls and he looks at his feet again. “Can I-” he takes a deep breath, hopeful. “Can I stay here?” he nearly holds his breath, he doesn't want to look up. He doesn't want to see Jim say no.

 

Jim looks over his shoulder at his house, imagining Plato seeing his family. Imagining his family seeing Plato. He imagines his father sitting at the kitchen table right now, waiting, because somehow he heard Jim leave. 

 

“Get in the car, Plato.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“Get in my car, I'm taking you home.”

 

* * *

 

Jim doesn't say anything on the way to Plato's house except to ask for directions. Plato doesn't say anything except to give them. For a strange moment that had slipped away too fast, he'd really thought- he'd stupidly really thought- that Jim was going to run away with him. He hated that he'd thought that, because he hadn't even meant it when he asked. He  _ wanted  _ it, but he hadn't meant it. 

 

Finally, they pull up to Plato's house. Plato hops out of the car quickly, before it's even fully stopped, and starts quickly towards the door. 

 

“Plato! Hey, wh-” Jim calls from the car. Plato doesn't look back, but he hears the car door and Jim running up after him. Jim catches him at the door, and grabs his shoulder to spin him around. 

 

“Why'd you bolt off like that?” 

 

“Thanks for driving me home.” Plato says curtly, wiping a tear off his face quickly. 

 

“Hey, I said I wasn't gonna leave you.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“I promised.” Jim says, smiling at him. 

 

A smile broke out across Plato's face. “I thought-” 

 

“Come on, let's get you inside, alright?” 

 

Plato opens the door and even in the dark, Jim can tell, the house is gorgeous. It's big and sparsely furnished and Jim thinks,  _ It must be suffocating to be alone here.  _ He isn't sure why. 

 

“Do you want the tour?” Plato says, bouncing on his feet.

 

“Nah.” Jim says. “Maybe tomorrow.” he pulls out a cigarette. “Is it alright if I smoke in here?” he asks. 

 

“Why not? My mother does.”  

 

Jim nods and puts the cigarette in the corner of his mouth. 

 

“Where’s your room?” he asks, pulling out his lighter. 

 

“It's upstairs, come on.” Plato says, grabbing Jim's hand and pulling him towards the staircase. 

 

“Woah there, you could've burnt yourself.” Jim says with a small laugh, letting Plato lead him. 

 

Plato's room is nice and just about what Jim expected. The furnishings are fancy, expensive, and the room is relatively clean, except for the desk in the corner, which is piled high with books and papers. Jim wonders if the maid cleans Plato’s room or if he keeps it that way himself. Jim sits on the edge of Plato's bed and puffs at his cigarette. 

 

“Oh, I'm gonna need an ashtray or something. Don't wanna burn your blanket.” he said, running his hand over the soft fabric. 

 

“I'll uh, I'll go get my mother's.” 

 

“She's not home, is she?” Jim asks casually, because he already knows. 

 

“No, no, she-” Plato looks at Jim for a long moment. “You probably want a drink, don't you?” 

 

Jim shrugs. “Sure.” 

 

Plato disappears into the hallway and comes back a few minutes later with a large bottle on one hand, and a crystal ashtray in the other. 

 

“Damn.” Jim says quietly, taking the ashtray in his hands. He balances it on his lap and taps the ash off his cigarette. 

 

Plato walks around and sits down on the floor, with his back to the bed. 

 

“What’re you doing?” 

 

“I like to sit here and look out the window, at the stars. Tonight you can see the moon, too.”

 

Jim slides onto the floor and sits beside him. He looks out the window for a long moment. “Yeah, it's nice.” 

 

Plato is shaking a bit again, and he's embarrassed. He's just excited to have Jim here with him. Excited that he was right about him. That he was someone who would be a friend. Excited that he has someone to share this view with. Plato looks at the plume of smoke rising from Jim's cigarette. “Is it alright if I-” he asks, pointing towards it. 

 

“Yeah, here.” Jim says, passing him the cigarette before he can finish asking. Plato takes a long, deliberate drag off of it. He wonders if it feels warm because of the smoke or because it was between Jim's lips. 

 

“What have you got there?” Jim asks, pointing at the bottle Plato had brought with him. 

 

“Brandy.” Plato says tensely, trying not to cough. Jim reaches across Plato's lap and grabs the bottle. 

 

“Looks nice.” he says, regarding it for a moment before unscrewing the cap and taking a long drink. 

 

Plato holds the cigarette back out towards Jim. He takes it and hands Plato the bottle. Plato takes a small sip from it. He doesn't wince like Jim expects him too. 

 

He hands the bottle back to Jim and watches him tip his head back, taking another long drink. Plato laughs at him a bit. Jim smiles at him and wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve. 

 

“What, what is it?”

 

“No, it’s not very nice.” Plato says, still laughing. 

 

“Go on, I can take it.” Jim says, starting to crack up a bit himself.

 

“You drink like you don’t wanna live.” Plato says, laughing like it’s the funniest thing in the world, and Jim laughs with him. Neither of them particularly understand why, but they can’t stop. 

 

“I mean,” Plato says, trying to stifle his laughter. “You remember the first time we met? I thought you were crazy. I thought you were some crazy drunk.” 

 

Jim is laughing so hard that tears are forming in his eyes. “Gee, kid…” He says, wheezing and holding his chest. Plato is laughing so hard he has to hold onto Jim’s shoulder to steady himself.

 

“Why is this funny?” he asks.

 

Jim looks down at Plato. His eyes are sparkling with laughter and moonlight. 

 

“Because if it wasn’t…” Jim says, taking a small sip from the bottle. “We’d be crying.”

 

Plato’s laughter fades slowly, but he’s still smiling. He takes the bottle from Jim and takes another sip. “You know, I’ve never been drunk before.” 

 

Jim looks down at him. He stubs out his cigarette and takes the bottle. “Well, you’re not getting drunk tonight either.” he says, lightly.

 

“Hmm?” 

 

“I brought you home to get some sleep.” Jim says, pushing the ashtray and the bottle towards the corner. 

 

“Alright.” Plato says, fondly. Happy to have someone looking after him who doesn’t have to be paid to be there.

 

Plato gets up and gets his pajamas out of his dresser. Jim slips his shoes off quickly, then takes off his coat and balls it up into a pillow. He lays back onto the floor. The bed creaks with the weight of Plato laying on it, and he pops his head over the side to look down at Jim.

 

“What are you doing down there?”

 

“Trying to sleep.”

 

“Don’t be stupid, the bed is big enough for both of us.”

 

Jim stands, and Plato pulls the blankets back for him. Jim settles unsurely into the bed, and Plato curls up against him, putting his head on Jim’s chest. 

 

Plato stares out the window. “The sun’s about to come up.” he says quietly, with a small smile.

Jim tucks an arm behind his head to prop him up so he can look at Plato. He curls the other arm around Plato’s back. “Yeah, it is.” Jim whispers. 

 

They haven’t talked about it yet, but Plato thinks the world will end at night. That nothing good happens once it’s dark out, and if you can just make it until the sun, you’ll be alright. Jim thinks the world will end at dawn, just as a new day starts, because dawn feels so lonely and empty. He thinks dawn is when the world will end because everyone will see the sun and think they’ve made it out alright, and drop their guard. 

 

Plato breathes softly, finally asleep, just as the sun is coming up. Jim stares out the window and wonders if he can reach the bottle of brandy without waking him up. 

 


End file.
